I'm a Doctor not a Babysitter
by Spontaneous Me
Summary: Of course, being one of the few sane people on board, sometimes McCoy got stuck doing just that. Five times Bones took care of the crew, and one time they took care of him. CHAPTER ONE: Bones should have brought a camera. This was comedy gold.


It was easy to say when the mission failed. It was doomed the second James Tiberius Kirk stepped foot off the Enterprise.

Okay, fine. Maybe it wasn't that bad. Jim had been closer death (even going so far as to literally _die, _the selfish bastard), but it didn't help the fact that McCoy was always a grumpy bloody mess a couple hours later.

The mission was an easy one. Beam down to the surface of the planet, grab the ambassador and beam back up. The delegates insisted on a formal meeting on the planet's surface. Something about rousing the gods and apparently that was a bad idea. Not that McCoy was complaining—hell, he had had enough with weird alien entities and the like.

Funny, how it always was the simplest missions that got shot up the most.

It didn't take them long to discover the trap. Brightly colored humanoids charged out of the foliage almost as soon as they beamed down, screaming and chasing them like a herd of cows down the slope while Jim tried to contact the ship but failed because the natives were jamming the signal?

Now they were locked in a dark, moldy cell, after a suicide bomber (Bones still didn't know how they got their hands on that kind of firepower) threw the captain down a gully and left him with a couple cracked ribs, first to second-degree burns, a concussion, and possible internal bleeding on the side.

They left him his medical kit, for which Bones was grateful, but took their communicators. They tossed them into the cell with all the grace of a couple hippopotami, but whereas McCoy was able to catch himself, Jim fell to the floor with a cry of pain, barely able to keep his head from smacking the ground. Bones shot their captors' retreating backs a glare as he knelt at Jim's side.

Jim groaned as he was gently rolled over.

"Where'd they get _that?_" He asked quizzically.

McCoy shrugged as he dug through his kit, already mentally measuring out the necessary painkillers. He pulled off his blue sweater, leaving the black Starfleet regulation undershirt, and tucked it under his friend's head. It wasn't much, but he knew how much better it was than the hard ground.

Jim continued ranting on the floor. While the fact that he was still talking was a good sign, his sentences where getting shorter and more slurred. "I didn't see that coming. Talk about surprise attack. That guy came outta nowhere!"

Bones slipped the cartridge into the hypospray with a practiced ease. He had started the habit of carrying around the only painkiller that Jim wasn't allergic too. It was heavy, but that would be a blessing considering how annoyingly painful even cracked ribs could be.

"Bones, how'd they even get that kind of firepower? It's not like they're an advanced race—"

"Why are you asking me?" Bones interrupted with a swift, but not harsh, jab to the neck. "Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not Sherlock Holmes."

"No, I'm Sherlock. Amazingly brilliant and smart. And smart. With all the good looks. And not to mention..."

Bones snorted and raised an eyebrow as he passed the thermal regenerator over a burn on his friend's arm. It wasn't the best treatment for that type of injury, but it was all he had right now, and he would be damned if he was going to let an infection make everything worse. There wasn't anything he could do for Jim's ribs, but thankfully they were just cracked, not broken, which was a burden off the doctor's shoulders.

"...which makes you Watson." Jim had not stopped talking. "He's a crabby doctor, you're a crabby doctor, it's perfect!"

"Maybe you should have broken your jaw." McCoy grumbled not unhappily. "All these goddamned missions and not once has anything injured that pretty mouth of yours."

"You think I've got pretty lips?"

"Don't flatter yourself, kid."

"I love my lips."

Shit, he had forgotten how high Jim could get. Maybe he shouldn't have given him the full dosage. Bones mentally slapped himself while he stared at his incredibly high captain. Jim was in full pontificating mode now, waving his arms around as he stated how he would woo every girl in Starfleet in one day. It involved hacking into Starfleet's main server, a lot of shirtless holovids, and a scheme so elaborate it couldn't possibly work but because it was Jim Kirk it would. Nature had a way of working in his favor.

Bones wished he had a camera. This was comedy gold.

Jim was so deep in planning his scheme he didn't stop talking even when Spock charged into the room and broke them out. Bones rolled his eyes as the hobgoblin rose an eyebrow at the captain's non-stop monologue.

It wasn't until the next day when Jim started calling him Watson that he drew the line. Jim pouted for hours afterward, but there was no way in heaven or hell McCoy would let himself fall victim to _another _stupid nickname. 'Bones' was quite stupid enough, thankyouverymuch.

* * *

**First, I'd like to apologize for the length. Or lack of it. My goal is to get each of these chapters over one thousand words, but this one didn't quite make it. I promise longer chapters in the future. **

**ANYWAYS, this chapter was response to a prompt my sister gave me (she's my live prompt generator. She's awesome) **_ should have brought a camera. This was comedy gold.** But I have no idea what a camera would be called in the Star Trek universe, so if anyone would care to enlighten me on the subject, go right ahead. **

**And...um...yeah. I think that's about it. I mean, honestly, the only thing I'm not happy with is the length of this here fic...so...I think it works. **

**COMING UP: **His face was swelling to the size of a large balloon wearing a red curly wig.

**(Can you guess who that was?** **Winner(s) get a virtual cookie. XD)**


End file.
